Keys

I look for love like I look for my keys.

I start from where I began,

Without pants.

I empty my pockets filled with trash,

A hoarding habit born from my youth.

I say I’ll dispose of my garbage,

But I pick up more along the way.

Gum fills my life,

Because I like the smell and the violence.

I imagine my worst enemies ground beneath my teeth,

And the taste dulls with each bite.

I treasure empty wrappers; every wad of gum needs a home.

In the end, my trash lies forgotten in a sticky mess I regret.

I retrace my steps

Keys don’t just disappear.

If I’m desperate, I call out to them,

And shake my head at the silliness.

I’ve prayed to a god I don’t believe in,

And I say if you help me just this once I’ll be more careful next time.

I know it’s a lie, but God is mute like my keys.

I always find them eventually,

Yet I’ll lose them the next day guaranteed.

I’ll curse and stomp my feet,

But I’m the only one to blame.

Keys are tricky to find,

Small, unnoticeable in my chaotic life.

I’ve punched a wall in the morning,

I know I can’t go home if I don’t find them.

There are times where I look for hours and hours,

And they’re usually resting in plain sight.